Interlude in a Church
by Kassia
Summary: A woman witnesses an interesting conversation.


Disclaimer: If they have names, they're Marvel's. 

Huh. I wish I could disclaim responsibility for the story, but I guess not. I just sat down and started writing and this rather strange piece emerged. It's pretty experimental. 

But I hope you enjoy it. Send feedback and anything else to kassia06@yahoo.com   


**Interlude in a Church**

By Kassia

I'm very religious. 

I just thought I'd mention that, to explain why I was in church in the middle of the week. It was to pray. Any other details about me are irrelevant since this story isn't about me. It's a piece of on ongoing saga that I didn't see the beginning of, and won't see the end of. But I think I saw one of the most beautiful parts of the story. 

I walked into the church, grateful to be out of the rain that was making my clothes itchy and my hair frizzy. The first thing that caught my eye was purple. 

There was a lady sitting in the middle of a pew in our tiny church, and she had purple hair. I'd never seen her before, I was sure. I would've remembered the purple hair. I was curious about her, so I chose a pew behind her, sitting by the aisle. Sitting right behind her in the middle of the pew would have been too suspicious. 

I watched the back of her head for awhile, thoughtfully, and then turned as I heard the church door opening. A dark haired man in a trenchcoat entered, cast a brief glance around, then spotted my purple haired lady. He made his way purposefully down the aisle, right by me, and turned at her bench. 

"Knew I'd find you here," he said, sitting down beside her. 

She shifted away from him slightly. The movement would have been imperceptible if I hadn't been watching them so closely. "How... insightful of you," I heard her murmur. "But how did you know, when I didn't know I'd end up here myself?" 

"Ya really wanna know? I thought of what I'd do in your situation, and then did the opposite. And I assumed you'd go somewhere quiet." 

They both had British accents, not something you hear all that often in Salem Center. Add the fact that one of them had purple hair, and you have a genuine oddity. 

She turned her face towards him, and, as a result, slightly towards me, and I could see her features now. For a moment, I thought there was a huge, bloody gash across her eye, but no, that was just me overreacting. It was a tattoo, or makeup or something. "But how did you know I'd be here _in particular_? Or did you check every church in town first?" 

"This was the closest one. But I was going to check all the others, if this one hadn't been the right one." 

"Ah." 

I slid a bit closer. They were talking too damn softly. 

Silence. The purple hair woman shifted uncomfortably, and the dark man sitting next to her stared forward, unmoving except for his fingers drumming lightly on the seatback in front of him. 

"To be honest," said the woman at last, "I'm not even sure which religion this church is." 

The man shrugged. "Well, I didn't exactly stop and check. Took enough effort to go into a place with the word 'church' outside, without worrying 'bout which bloody church it was." 

"Perhaps you shouldn't swear, Pete," said the woman. "We may not know which denomination this church belongs to, but it is still a house of some god or other." 

"Maybe this god likes swearing," the man- Pete- suggested. 

They were silent again, for a moment. The man leaned back, and raised his legs to try to rest them on the seatback in front of him. The benches were too close for it to work, and after getting himself twisted up into an extremely uncomfortable position, and being glared at by a stately matron walking up the aisle, he put his feet back down again. 

He sighed. "I'm the only one who _saw_ you do it, you know." 

"So?" 

"Well, that knowledge is yers, for what it's worth." 

"It's worth nothing," the woman said venomously. 

"I'm just saying," the man said, hesitantly, "that you can tell the story any way you want." 

The woman had rested her forehead on the seatback in front of her, and her lips were moving silently. She was praying, probably to a different god than my church is dedicated to.. The man looked over, and then away. He shifted over, and started tapping his feet. Suddenly, the man was the uncomfortable one, and the woman the unmoving one. Except for her lips. 

They could've been a married couple, a wife come to church to pray, her husband waiting impatiently while she did so. Or they could've been related, or they could've been friends. If I hadn't hear the rest of the conversation, for all I know, he could've been some loser and she a purple haired woman he was trying to pick up in a church, because he was _that_ much of a loser. 

And maybe they _were_ one of the above. But there was something more here. 

Finally, the man's discomfort at being next to a praying individual won over his reluctance to interrupt her, and he said, "Betsy? Betsy? Ya need to come back. No permanent damage was done..." 

"Except Remy will never walk again," she- Betsy- interrupted. 

Enter another player. Remy. Who the hell is Remy? 

"Well, there is that," the man admitted. "But how did you know about that? Oh, yeah..." He then murmured something that sounded like 'bloody psychopaths' or 'bloody telefax' or something like that. I scooted a tiny bit closer. 

"Pete, you were there," the woman said softly. "I enjoyed it. I could have easily killed him if not for your timely intervention." 

"Kit says I'm nothing if not timely," said the man, rather irrelevantly. I don't think the comment really meant anything. 

"The point is," she said impatiently, "how can I return like this? Like what I've become? A killer, a sadist to boot, an insane woman who they indulge only because she was once a good friend..." 

"It wasn't you, Betsy, it was the Crimson Dawn," the man replied, his tone holding a bit of desperation. "No one will hold you responsible for yer actions, no one'd condemn you..." 

I think that was the point I got _really_ confused. Crimson what? 

"That's just it. No one would hold me responsible for my actions, ever again. I want to be regarded as who I am now, and if the Crimson Dawn is part of that, so be it. But I will _not_ be viewed as a mere shadow of my former self. What happened to Gambit... I did that." 

Gambit? Maybe it's Remy's last name. 

The man seemed at a loss for words for a moment. Then he said, "Damn, of all the crimes to witness... Why can't I get to see drug related crimes, or something nice like that? No, I get to watch the ones that come with all the emotional baggage..." He went on, mumbling for a little while. The woman only shrugged gracefully. 

Then they were both completely silent for awhile. I wished they wouldn't be; this was getting pretty interesting. The woman broke the silence. 

"Hmm. I think that's very true," she said. 

The man started, and then said, "Has anyone ever told you that you telepaths can be damned unnerving?" 

"Not in so many words," she replied. 

It took a while for the man's sentence to completely sink in. In fact, I don't think I really grasped it until something like a week later. 

"Well, if yer so intent on having everyone know that you injured Gambit, and it's completely your fault," he turned, an arm resting on his seatback, "then why'd you do it?" 

She shrugged. "He made me angry. I was sick of his thoughts and..." she paused, "I don't know," she finished. 

"I know. Because you didn't do it." 

"My motives don't make a difference." 

"They do to the rest of us." 

"I don't really care what matters to the rest of you. Anyway, if you wish to talk of motive, let's discuss your motive in trying to drag me back, shall we? It's not like we're exactly best friends, Pete." 

So I guess they're not related, not lovers, and- I have it on the lady's authority- not best friends. 

"I'm the only one who saw you run, and I'm the first one who knows what yer running from. Makes me responsible, by default." 

"Ah." 

"And I have an irrepressible streak of chivalry." 

"Ah ha." 

"And Kitty'd kill me if I didn't get you back." 

I assume Kitty was either his lover, or, possibly, Betsy's lover and Pete's friend. Or one of them's sister. But the first seems the most likely, doesn't it? 

"Hmm," was all Betsy said. 

"You're not listening," Pete said accusingly. 

"I didn't come here to talk to _you_, Pete," she said wryly. 

"But yer going to have to, until you agree to come back with me," he said stubbornly. "Or give me a damned good reason why you're not." 

"Pete, I appreciate what you're trying to do, but it's my crime, my penance, and, ah," I was privileged to catch the rather sardonic glance she gave him, "my decision." She stood up to leave. 

He grabbed her arm, and jerked her back down onto the seat. "Bloody hell, Betsy. You need to come back, before you hurt someone else..." 

"So you finally admit that I hurt someone?" she murmured. 

He didn't reply, but continued, "It was something outside of yer head, maybe something in his. I hear he has fairly suicidal tendencies. Maybe it was even part accident. You were pretty riled up, training..." 

"It was," she breathed, "in no way an accident." She touched her forehead, as if she was having a headache. "And, regardless, I..." she faltered, "ruined a man's life." 

She removed her hand, and looked him straight in the eye. "And you didn't hear the voices." 

I guess Pete couldn't really argue with that one. So he just stared at the woman. Or he might have been making faces. As I've mentioned before, I could only see the back of his head. 

Betsy stood up, saying, "You may think it's the wrong choice, but I know it isn't. I need to go." 

He didn't say anything, didn't argue. I don't blame him. Watching this woman run from whatever she was running from was liking watching someone swallow glass. But she... you could almost believe she'd be able to digest it. I get the impression that both me and Pete knew there was no stopping her now. 

"Tell Kitty I'm sorry I ruined your vacation," she said softly, "and the others," she paused, "don't say anything. It would be too shallow. But tell Warren... tell him not to wait for me." 

"Of course he's not going to wait for you," growled Pete. "If he has any sense, he's going to go _after_ you." 

"Well, then that's his own fault, isn't it?" she said in an odd tone. "Good bye." 

So I guess Warren's her lover. Lucky guy. And I mean that both seriously and sarcastically. 

Pete watched her, as she took the jacket that had been lying next to her and began to put it on. I could see her eyes now. You've never seen eyes like that, and if you're lucky you never will. It wasn't just that they were violet, it was that they were so hollow, but you could tell that once upon a time they had been beautiful, expressive. But at least they held a slight gleam. 

Or maybe that was just me being hopeful. I wanted a happy ending desperately for the woman. 

"Um..." she said. I looked up and saw that her jacket had somehow gotten twisted around, and she was having trouble getting into it. She was suddenly awkward, which was funny in such a confident, beautiful woman. 

"Oh, let me help you with that." He stood up and adjusted her jacket, then helped her into it. An embarrassed smile flickered across her face. 

"Thanks." She began to walk away. 

"Welcome," he said. 

He watched her out the door, and murmured something that I think was, "You botched that one up but good, Petey." 

He lit a cigarette, seemingly oblivious to the fact he was in a church. Then he shrugged. He walked to the aisle, the paused, and glanced at me. "Didn't anyone ever tell you it's rude to eavesdrop? Bloody Americans." He then snorted, and walked down the aisle. 

I must've looked like I'd been caught stealing or killing someone or something. In hindsight, I guess I shouldn't have taken reprimands about etiquette from a man who smoke and swore in church so seriously, but then I felt terrible. 

Not that I would've missed out on that conversation for the world. 

He vanished then. So I'll never know what happened to Betsy, or what Kitty said to Pete about letting Betsy go. And I'll never know if Warren went after her, or how Remy's doing. 

But I like... I like to think they lived happily ever after. 

Somehow. 


End file.
